Eyes
by BBCRULES
Summary: Eyes are the window of a soul: they can tell you everything. Sherlock Holmes has gazed into the eyes of many people. Enjoy and please tell me what you think for your comment is a big encouragement. Betaread(Thanks, AreYouReady). Childhood-post Reichenbach.


Eyes can tell you everything. This is loosely related to "Gift" and "A lie that didn't work." Enjoy and please tell me what you think. Thank you for reading.

My deepest thanks goes to _AreYouReady_ for the beautiful beta-reading:)

* * *

_Eyes are the windows of a soul._

* * *

Sherlock could still hear his mother's voice, even years after her death. Victoria Holmes was right. The eyes showed if a person was trustworthy or not. It usually took time. You can't gaze into the soul of a total stranger at the first encounter. However, his years of experience as a consulting detective had greatly shortened that necessary period.

In general, there were two types of eyes: ones that could be trusted and ones that couldn't. In his life Sherlock Holmes had looked into the eyes of so many people. Few people had turned out to have the trustworthy ones.

* * *

Family

Victoria Holmes' eyes were full of love and care. Her eyes had never betrayed Sherlock even when her younger son embarrassed her in front of her guests at tea-time: the five-year-old boy babbled about the obvious extra-marital affair between his father and Jenny, a babysitter for his friend. Baffled as to how he could come across that sort of information, and angry that he had shared it with the world, Mycroft had sent him to his bedroom right away. The thirty minutes until every guest left the manor was the longest stretch of agony that the little boy could remember. He tried to read Treasure Island, one of his favorite books, but couldn't turn a page after Silver and Jim's first encounter. He just stared at the text blankly, pondering over what had gone wrong. He heard light footsteps, the door creaked open, and there was his mummy. She knelt before him; his eyes gazed into hers eyes for a minute. She was the same lovely mummy as always. Out of relief and guilt, Sherlock jumped into her arms and sobbed far past bedtime. Since then, she had developed frequent migraines and drifted away from him, but still he could find affection and love in the two bright eyes that looked just like his.

Mycroft's eyes were harder to read because his verbal reproach often made Sherlock angry, which distracted him from gazing into his brother's eyes. After bickering over nothing, Sherlock used to stomp out of the room wondering if Mycroft was not his brother but the archenemy. However, once in a while, the younger Holmes could find the eyes of his brother, full of affection and concerns like his mummy, especially when he was sick in bed and his brother sitting through the night like the first Christmas after Mycroft went to university. His brother's eyes were smiling when Sherlock gave him a long black umbrella as a special gift on Christmas. Come to think of it, Mycroft's eyes had never changed, despite ups and downs in the siblings' relationship. Sherlock could see the unflinching support in the eyes of his brother, even at the darkest moment of his youth - when Sherlock fought the cocaine relapse.

* * *

School mates and teachers

Sherlock could see how much he could trust his school mates and teachers not by their eyes, almost all of them avoided his penetrating gaze, but by their words, glares, or gestures. They hated Sherlock Holmes, the boy who knew every dark secret they had. The few who lingered around him always expected some reward for providing their company to the lonely "oddity". Ralph in year 8 wanted Sherlock to help him with his Latin final test; Edward in year 10 wanted him to write a chemistry report, and Sebastian* at university wanted him to deduce everything about Sandy Miles, a girl whom he had a crush on. He used to get wounded and disappointed at the way these other students tried to use him. To protect himself, Sherlock started to act out more. He disclosed embarrassing secrets of people around him and bragged about being a sociopath. It worked well - no one had any doubts about Sherlock's self-proclaimed sociopathy. His life got much "safer". People shot disdainful glances at him instead of punching him in the face. The best he could get from others' eyes was indifference.

* * *

Colleagues

Lestrade's eyes were confusing because they kept changing. In the early days when he had just started to work the cases with Sherlock, his eyes often contained a mixture of awe and embarrassment, like so many others before him. For a while, he made a feeble attempt to make Sherlock behave, and to force him off the drugs. It didn't take long for the DI to find out his remonstration was useless. He had gotten into the habit of catering to Sherlock's demands instead of listening to his own officers. The DI's eyes were ambitious, while the detective's eyes were fervent. Neither Lestrade nor Sherlock acknowledged this, but both needed each other. Lestrade's credit inched up and up while Sherlock's life became less and less dull. After numerous cases, Sherlock found the DI's eyes had changed somehow, and they began to remind him of Mycroft's. On one of the reckless chases, Sherlock was stabbed by a suspect who had a knife. Lestrade ran after him and demanded paramedics, kneeling beside the bleeding young man. For a brief moment, Sherlock thought Mycroft was holding his hands. From time to time the detective could read the look of concerns from the DI's eyes. When the DI presented the bloody deer stalker and urged him to put it on, Sherlock shot a deadly glare at him. However, it was that moment that he found that Lestrade's eyes were the ones he could trust fully. Greg Lestrade was a second friend, after John Watson.

Molly Hooper's eyes, come to think about it, had looked into Sherlock's eyes much earlier than Sherlock had looked into hers. Like the Yarders, most of the lab staff avoided Sherlock, but Molly was different, even when they'd just met. She had been like a shadow. For some unfathomable reason, it was surprisingly easy to ask her for favors. If only the detective had returned Molly's gaze, he could've realized that Molly was someone he could trust much earlier, before that day at the lab. _I don't count._ Her words had taken the sleuth by surprise, and it was at that moment that Sherlock realized that there was something special in the way that she looked at him. Later that night, Sherlock knew what Moriarty's plan would be after so-called Richard Brook jumped out of the window and ran away. The only one that could help the detective at the moment was Molly Hooper. _Will she assist me?_ The detective wasn't sure: he had made enough mistakes, hurting her in the process. But when Molly asked him what he would need, their eyes met for a few seconds. That was when Sherlock realized how he would win: Molly was the detective's ace in the hole. And, well, James Moriarty, although he had dated Molly for a few days, had never found what lay deep inside Molly's eyes, so he didn't recognize Molly's value.

* * *

Enemy

One would think that when the eyes of the master detective and the master criminal met, they would instantly recognize each other, but, actually, Sherlock failed to see anything extraordinary in the timid and smiling IT worker that Molly had invited into the lab. The one thing that had caught his attention was that Jim had tried to catch Sherlock's eyes, unlike most others. That was rather new, but Carl Powers' case was his priority and the sleuth failed to see that Moriarty was just pretending to be Molly's harmless, closet gay date. Later Sherlock confronted Moriarty at the pool, and their eyes locked together. To both of their amazement, the world's only consulting detective and consulting criminal saw similar things in each other's eyes. A hunger for acknowledgement for their genius, and an all-consuming hatred of their mutual tormentor: boredom. They were as alike as twins, the two sides of a coin. However, the criminal saw one difference. James Moriarty would never flinch even when his own man was put in mortal danger: in the end, ordinary inferior people were disposable. Sherlock Holmes was different: his eyes were full of unexpected alarm and concerns at the sight of John Watson in a bomb-vest. The stirring in the detective's eyes ensured Moriarty that he would be the last man standing. Sherlock Holmes was on the side of the angels. At that instant Sherlock knew that his greatest enemy had just found his Achilles' heel: the criminal would eventually take advantage of this weakness someday.

* * *

Friend

John Watson's eyes were a mystery to the sleuth, for they kept changing. At first, his eyes were like few others before him, full of awe and incredulousness at the deductions of his flatmate. His eyes, no doubt, were trustworthy, yet they were complicated. From time to time Sherlock could see disappointment, annoyance and embarrassment. When they confronted Moriarty at the pool, the intent stare revealed the determination of a soldier: the stubbornness and loyalty needed to sacrifice himself to save his comrade, though the attempt be futile.

Afterwards, the detective wondered if John could be his first-ever friend. A new sentiment that Sherlock had never experienced before was filling up his empty heart: it was invigorating, sweet, and warm. _Is this friendship?Is it the reason that John has been putting up with living in this flat with me?_ However, the doctor and the detective had never talked out about this new feeling between them. Soon the few that associated with Sherlock often, like Mycroft and Lestrade, began to sense the change in Sherlock. They watched with doubtful eyes as he showed unbelievable tolerance to his flatmate by elaborating on his deductions whenever John asked and allowing John to correct him when he made some grave social error, (which he did, frequently). They didn't see the fear and insecurity lurking inside his eyes.

Ironically, all hell broke loose with the rescue of the children. The world doubted Sherlock Holmes. The police were on their way to arrest him. The detective had not yet discovered the true meaning of Moriarty's words. _I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you._ His brother had remained distant, and he felt so alone. John was with him, yet he wasn't sure if John was also being played with by his enemy. To his relief, the doctor stayed put: his words were powerful - _nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time._ However, it wasn't John's words that assured the detective, but his eyes. John was his true friend, and that would never change with the rise and fall of Sherlock's fickle reputation.

* * *

Three years later

* * *

After years of tearing down Moriarty's web, Sherlock finally returned to 221B. He was waiting for someone, pacing around the sitting room. Mycroft had contacted John, so John was on his way to the old flat, wondering why the older Holmes didn't "kidnap" him as usual.

The door downstairs opened. John still had his key. The detective could hear the stairs creaking. The inside was dark, the only light coming from the street lamp outside the window. John could see only the shadow of the detective at first. Sherlock flicked the light switch on: the doctor stopped dead. It took for a minute before the doctor recognized him. Then he kept rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as though he was seeing a ghost.

"John, I'm here." The detective managed to choke out a sentence. The doctor flinched – at last he understood the situation. John's breathing got faster and shallower, his shoulders got stiff and tense. He looked so dangerous.

Sherlock's eyes found his friend's face: something fell in Sherlock's stomach. The suffering of the past three years was etched on John's brow. He looked much older, and tired. Automatically the detective's eyes darted to find his friend's eyes. Something flickered in his heart: the doctor's eyes were not dead. They were burning with anger, bitterness, and confusion. And there was one more thing, something that the detective had seen so long time ago: John still believed in him, and he was happy to get his sociopath back. Then the fire in John's eyes died out; his lips pursed into a thin line; his shoulders slumped. He turned his back slowly and limped out of the flat.

John Watson didn't accept Sherlock's apology. Nor did he give the detective a chance to explain why. Waiting for John's frozen heart to melt was supposed to be tedious and frustrating.

However, the detective couldn't deal with the boredom. With Moran remaining alive and evasive, he had to put everything on the back burner until he could finish what Moriarty had started. He just hoped that what he had seen in John's eyes meant the doctor had already forgiven his three-year-absence.

* * *

John was still holding his gun tight when Lestrade gently took it away. The DI tapped his shoulder lightly, said he would see them at the hospital, and closed the door of the ambulance. Before the door completely closed, John could see a trolley with Moran's body being wheeled out of the building.

He stared blankly the oxygen mask. It fogged when Sherlock breathed heavily. All of a sudden, the line of the heart monitor went crazy with beeps. While the paramedic frantically worked to stabilize Sherlock, John held his friend's hands tight and called out his name. The detective's eyes opened: the two friends gazed into each other's eyes; they realized that nothing had changed; they were still friends.

* * *

*Blind Banker case, not S. Moran

** I am considering a story base on Empty House; I'm testing out a variety of "how to end confrontation with Moran". Please, review; give me some ideas:)


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